


baby steps

by Eryn



Series: John/Sherlock ageplay series [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Play, Gen, Infantilism, Non-Sexual Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 14:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn/pseuds/Eryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John had never thought this way before, but Sherlock was bringing out a different side of him. One that just wanted to take care of his little boy. Unfortunately said little boy has no idea what John is thinking, so just has to figure out how to break it to him.<br/>The fallout is spectacular</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How it began

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngeNoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/gifts).



> For the 'breaking the sex mold' challenge with AngeNoir's prompt  
>  **Infantilism, any rating - sometimes, John likes to coddle and treat Sherlock like an infant. Sherlock finds it insulting. Happy ending, though, even if it's they agree to disagree.**
> 
> kindly beta read by ChinaDolly  
> I put it up as six chapters because each Chapter gives a new puzzle piece. Chapters 1-3 are John's Point of view and Chapters 4-6 are Sherlock's.

The first time John had said it, he hadn't really meant it. Not in that way. It had been a joke. A quip at Sherlock's latests sulk induced antics.

_"You man-child. Stop behaving like a grown up toddler or I'll start treating you like one"_

His voice had been full of humour when all it earned him was a twist and a glare before Sherlock turned again and buried further into the couch, dressing gown wrapped tight around him. John had chuckled and gone back to his latest blog entry. Really, he hadn't even finished writing down the case and Sherlock was already in full out with drawl. The detective was sulking in the dressing gown because once again no one appreciated him and there were no cases and live was dull and John had forbidden experiments so the kitchen could recover from the last one and the violin had a broken string he hadn't come around to replace yet and life was horribly horrible to him.

But once the image had been created, John hadn't been able to get rid of it. Like tracing paper, superimposed on Sherlock when he threw a fit. A giant play suit, a pacifier, a picture book with squishy pages, a rattle to throw across the room. It was disturbing to say the least. Especially since John now found himself, more often than not, stand in the baby food aisle at Tesco, looking at formula and puree.  
After coming back from the war he'd been sure he wouldn't have children of his own. Or at least not toddler age children. He'd of course entertained the idea of a wife, or at least a steady girlfriend. But those women, even in his dreams, always came with their own history and step children old enough to go to school. Of course he'd have loved them as if they were his own children, but there had never been a toddler in the mix. No little thing to watch grow. No little teeth to introduce to solids. No baby to hold and play with. And now. Now he stood at the grocer and thought about his flatmate that way. The most brilliant mind he'd ever known, who could act like a sulking two year old at the drop of a hat, or rather the drop of cases.

John had never felt like this before. He seemed to be completely obsessed with the image. There was nothing sexual about it, this need to take care of Sherlock. He wanted to wrap him in a fluffy onesie, feed him, bath him, make silly faces at him to make him laugh, pull him from his sulk with toys and music and soft hugs. Of course if he ever tried any of this on Sherlock he'd likely get thrown out. Nonetheless John couldn't seem to help himself. His curiosity was piqued and every once and again, when Sherlock was out of the house, John found himself browsing the web, searching for whatever terms he could think of until he found the right word for it. Infantilism. Of course that described the other side of things. The desire to be a child. But it seemed to be the most obvious place to get information on everything. It was disturbing to learn how very sexualised the whole thing seemed. 

Though John had to concede that the satisfaction of taking care of someone might give something of an orgasmic thrill. But nonetheless it took him a while to find a place that suited him, with soft pastel colours and stories that didn't end with someone spanked or fucked or whatever. And once he'd found it he came back and let the link section show him even more of what was out there. His fantasies, after all, were harmless enough, so he saw no reason to moderate himself.


	2. Getting to know myself

The first time he'd almost gone through with it was when Sherlock had refused to eat. He had been too busy sulking. John had been about ready to go and get a glass of puree and a spoon when Sherlock's reaction to 'feed yourself or I'll feed you' had not been disgust or anger. Instead Sherlock had glared and snatched up the offered sandwich with an expression that clearly stated 'get lost. I'm eating. Happy?'.

In retrospect John knew it would have been a stupid thing to do. And even then he knew to bank the idea of acting on his impulse. But he couldn't help thinking about it, about having Sherlock in a chair in front of him, or no, perched on his lap, making a face at whatever John was trying to feed him, opening up only to prodding and plane-noises...or should that be ship noises? For little pirate Sherlock?  
Making a face and turning his head away, eating reluctantly but still finishing because John wouldn't let him get up otherwise. Rocking Sherlock as his stomach settled, stroking his back, petting him and then finding a toy for him to play with. Or put him down for a nap? Watch him yawn and grumble as he was placed down in a cot. He knew they made those in adult size. He'd seen them. Decorated with colourful patterned blankets, mobile suspended about it for when the child had trouble falling asleep. He'd also seen the play mats and books and toys, resized to withstand an adult playing with them. He'd watched the home-videos and found himself wanting, envious of what they had.

Sherlock could use the care, John thought. He seemed to always be on edge, either with a case or an experiment or a temper tantrum. John knew it was an underhanded move to try rationalise what was simply his own desire. But he couldn't help spinning the fantasy along. How it would help Sherlock to let go for once, let John care for him that way, permitted to be as difficult and wilful as he wanted because John was endlessly patient and would care for him and clean up after him and make him sleep, would bath him and dress him and feed him. And really, wasn't John doing that already? Wasn't he already cooking and fetching and cleaning while Sherlock sulked on the couch? Didn't he excuse Sherlock's antics, apologise for his insults, let himself be tugged along in the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes? Wasn't it natural to want the other half of the equation? Where Sherlock recognised John as his caretaker? Where he accepted the authority that John held? Where he submitted to John dictating his sleep schedule and his meals so that he actually stayed healthy?

John knew it wasn't healthy. This way of thinking. And more than once he had to stop himself from doing something he'd regret. They were both adults. He reminded himself of that fact firmly and frequently. They were both adults and Sherlock had more than the right to say no, to refuse John's fantasies. For that, however, Sherlock needed to know what he was saying no to.  
But how exactly did you break it to your flatmate, who claimed to be married to his work and whom you weren't sexually attracted to, that you'd like to put him into an adult size playsuit and feed him baby food with a plastic spoon before putting him down on a play mat with a rattle and a picture book?

Baby steps, John decided. You did it with baby steps. Small things. Maybe if he made it clear he wasn't thinking of Sherlock as incompetent, if he showed Sherlock that he still recognised him for the man he was, maybe that would make him receptive to the idea. Or maybe just receptive to trying a tiny detail of it. After all if he enjoyed the idea, what said that Sherlock didn't enjoy it as well? How should he know whether his flatmate enjoyed the idea of a caregiver around if he didn't try it?


	3. Bringing it up

Unfortunately there never seemed to be the time to bring it up. Or at least not a right time to do it. There were plenty of wrong times. Times where bringing it up would have been a bit not good. Times where bringing it up would have been weird. But no time where John thought that now would be the chance. No time like the present.

In the end he did it at a random time. Over dinner. Straight out of a case. Where they were both relaxed. The adrenaline rush had receded already but Sherlock had not yet fallen into the usual ennui that befell him when there was no problem to solve. So John licked his lips and shifted on the couch so he could look at Sherlock. 

"Sherlock", he began hesitantly. It wasn't surprising that Sherlock didn't acknowledge him. The younger rarely did and John had learnt to just carry on speaking. After all Sherlock expected him to listen even if he wasn't in the same city, he might as well return the favour. What he hadn't been prepared for however, was that his ' _there's something I want to tell you_ ' got him Sherlock's undivided attention in half a second. In fact the detective went so far as to jerk his head around, stare at him and then say

"Please don't."

John frowned at that. Normally Sherlock jumped at any chance to get more information on John. Or he delighted in halting John only to voice the supposed secret himself, showing off his deductions once again. But this wasn't a playful pause. Sherlock seemed to be genuinely upset with the idea of John voicing whatever was on his mind.

"Why not? What do you think I want to tell you?", John asked carefully. Whatever Sherlock assumed had him upset, so it would be best to get him talking. Even if he was going to voice another uncomfortable truth. At least it would be out then. He could still have his own uncomfortable confession some other day if Sherlock actually had something else to tell him about himself.

"It's rather obvious. You want to tell me that you are attracted to me, maybe even in love, and want to be intimate", Sherlock said haughtily. It was rather obvious to John how his flatmate tried to use his voice to maintain some distance between them even when physical distance was almost nil on their couch. But his assumption made John shake his head nonetheless, a small self-depreciative smile around his lips. If only it was that easy.

"No I don't. I have no desire to have sex with you", John said decisively. He could practically watch the wheels turn in Sherlock's head as the detective reshaped his assumption at the speed of light and reached a new conclusion.

"But it is something kinky", Sherlock said, his voice for once as much question as statement. John wanted to hug him even as he nodded. The uncertainty was such an unusual and wrong expression on Sherlock's face, John couldn't help but think of ways to make it go away. Maybe a really obvious children book. Something his little Sherlock could scoff at and fling across the room...

"I'm not letting you hit me", the detective replied, once again catching John off guard with his statement. Pain was so far from what he wanted his first reaction was a very intelligent 'uh?'. He'd read about it, sure. The discipline. The humiliation. And he felt his gall rise at the idea of doing this to Sherlock. It had already looked disgusting when he'd seen pictures of it online. But the idea of doing this to Sherlock. His brilliant flatmate.

"I wouldn't want you to. There's no way I'd hit a child", John said. His tongue felt like lead and his lips were suddenly dry and he held tightly onto his takeout box as Sherlock shot to his feat, eyes full of shock and anger.

"I'm not a child. There is neither need nor reason to treat me like one", Sherlock bit out and then he was storming out of the flat, not even taking his coat as he hurried down the stairs and into the dark street below. John just made it to the window in time to see Sherlock round the corner into the labyrinth of London streets.

John knew better than to try follow his flatmate. There was no one who knew London like Sherlock did and there was no way John would be able to catch him if he didn't want to be caught. He wondered if this was what parents felt when their teenagers wanted out, when what had looked like a beautiful little one seconds ago turned into a raging half adult storming out in a fit. He immediately scolded himself for such thoughts. Sherlock was no child and him thinking that way had brought them into this mess in the first place. Now John could only hope that Sherlock would return before he caught death outside. And that he'd be allowed to stay in the flat afterwards. He didn't want to lose his best mate over a stupid infatuation like that.


	4. Deductive minds want to know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV starts now

Sherlock had known something was up with John. For almost four weeks he'd noticed changes in his flatmate's behaviour. John had become simultaneously more affectionate and more withdrawn. There had been a significant increase in fond warm gazes shot his way, no matter how sour his mood was. But at the same time, the average number of casual touches per day had decreased to almost zero. Not even when John handed him a cup of tea would their fingers touch and John had gone so far as to take the long way around their flat so he wouldn't bump into Sherlock experimenting. It was as nice as it was disturbing and after just one week of it Sherlock had checked out John's laptop, only to find the browser history suspiciously cleared. His emails didn't prove fruitful either, so Sherlock had been forced to just watch more closely how John's behaviour changed.

On one particularly boring Tuesday he'd even stalked the doctor to work. It had been almost as boring as sitting at home. Nothing incriminating. No meetings. No weird purchases. Nothing to indicate anything was off. Only the sense that something was off.

The next week had been taken up by cases, but even at the height of the chase he still noticed those fond half-smiles John would send him whenever he was being especially brilliant, if he were to say so. Almost as if John was proud of him, pleased by Sherlock's deduction. Like an infatuated puppy...

It had been then that the idea of attraction had struck him. It had never seemed like John was interested in men, but then again, maybe he had stuck to women out of convenience. Even though women were always such an emotional hassle. Maybe John just normally preferred the female form, with males being a spicy adventure every once and again? Whatever the reason, Sherlock did his best to disabuse it. He had no interest in sleeping with his flatmate. Or anyone else, for that matter. Sex was, at the least, boring and tedious as well. Nothing he could be interested in.

But all his attempts to appear undesirable and difficult only made John all the more affectionate.

Sherlock made another attempt at John's browser history, but John was keeping it clean most diligently. That alone had to mean something. Namely that it wasn't just a casual sex interest. Either John was looking into embarrassing emotional baggage or his flatmate had a more sinister hobby. Like tying people up. Sherlock felt even less inclined to indulge John even if it meant they could go back to normal.

However, if his bad behaviour was only making John more interested, it had to be the latter idea. John wanted to tame him. To be affectionate towards Sherlock and have Sherlock comply to him in return. It made his teeth grate on each other and he hoped deeply that John would keep his little infatuation to himself.

Of course Sherlock had had no such luck and now he was out in the cold, the sun had already set and he had neither change nor cell phone. Gritting his teeth he paced down the roads, arms crossed in front of his chest so he could keep his hands warm under his arms. He had even forgotten his suit jacket so only the thin button down was protecting him from the cold autumn air. Around him people were walking with coats closed to their chin as they hurried home, giving him funny looks.   
Sherlock ignored them and instead let his feet lead him over dead leaves and rough gravel until he arrived at the one place where he would receive sanctuary at every time of the day. It was well past eight so Mycroft was already home. It had the benefit that Sherlock could slip into the Diogenes Club without problems or interruptions. Of course, socialising was expressly forbidden inside the club, but that didn't mean Mycroft wouldn't try to stay close to him. Sherlock didn't care much that Mycroft was deducing him, but it was distracting. And because of this it always made the whole point of visiting the club moot. Sherlock had long since learnt to time his visits to Mycroft's absence.

After he'd gotten himself a cup of tea he settled down in one of the many empty seats in front of the fire to think in peace as he warmed again.


	5. Fallout

When Sherlock returned to Baker Street it was 3 a.m. and all the lights were out. He was just grateful he could pick the lock in his sleep without anything but a paper clip. Because of this he could sneak inside and upstairs undetected, only to almost jump in surprise when he opened the door and found John on the couch. To Sherlock's relieve his flatmate was fast asleep, though his position was decidedly uncomfortable. John was still dressed in this day's clothes with their empty takeout boxes still on the table and it really didn't look as if John had moved from the couch at all. In his hand Sherlock could spot John's cell phone and he wondered if John had tried calling him. It would have been futile. His phone was in his bedroom. It had run out of juice over the course of the case and was currently charging.

Silently he crept down the corridor towards his bedroom. There was no reason to wake John as Sherlock still wasn't sure where he stood on the issue. Hell, he wasn't even sure what the issue was. Even after a good 6 hours of contemplation he had no idea what John wanted. He had a general idea, sure, but nothing real, noting defined. Too many possibilities running themselves ragged in his mind. So he snuck into his bedroom and closed the door noiselessly.

It was quite cosy inside and Sherlock took his time standing next to the heater to thaw his muscles again. He had an emergency jacket at the Diogenes, but it was thin and had barely kept him warm on the way home. Once he felt alive again Sherlock picked up his phone, made himself comfortable on the bed and powered it up. Just like he'd dreaded there were a number of texts from John, starting about three hours after he'd left the flat.

> 23:43 John: I'm sorry.
> 
> 23:59 John: Please come home.
> 
> 00:30 John: I know you're not a child.
> 
> 00:33 John: I just can't help to want to take care of you.
> 
> 00:47 John: I'm sorry.
> 
> 01:20 John: Please. Just tell me you're somewhere safe.
> 
> 01:53 John: If you want me to, I can be gone by tomorrow evening.
> 
> 02:14 John: I'm sorry. Just tell me you're safe please. Nothing more.
> 
> 02:15 John: Just 'I'm safe' is enough.

Sighing Sherlock burrowed under the covers and typed his own message.

> 03:25 Sherlock: I'm safe. Don't worry. SH

He could hear the text alert from the living room, followed by John jerking upright and a bit of mumbling. There was no sound of steps though, so apparently John intended to wait for his return. Sherlock briefly entertained the idea of telling John to go to bed, but he didn't want to give away his location. In his hand his phone beeped and he quickly pushed it against the mattress to muffle the sound.

> 03:29 John: Will you be home tomorrow?

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. The message implied that John wanted to talk again, or at least to know about Sherlock's whereabouts. Was he willing to give him that? Was he willing to comfort John and ease his worries? The answer was obvious. But Sherlock still took the time to turn off the sound before answering.

> 03:35 Sherlock: Yes. Just tell me. If you want to take care of me, why don't you do it as one adult to another?

It had been what had confused him most. Especially after reading John's texts. If John just wanted to take care of him, why did he need to think of him as a child for that. It was insulting and debasing. Why should anyone want to be treated like a child? Not even children wanted to be treated that way!

Sherlock had almost given up all hope for a reply when his phone buzzed in his hand. He had almost fallen asleep and could barely refrain from jerking upward.

> 04:02 John: An adult doesn't really need looking after. They are independent, able and expected to feed themselves and be in control of their emotions. Children aren't. A child isn't required to do anything. They need to be looked after. Others are expected to 
> 
> 04:10 John: look after them. To help them. It's okay for an adult to look after a child, but not a mentally able adult. So I'd rather think of you as a child rather than an adult. It is insulting to look after an adult that way, but not a child.

Sherlock read the messages with mixed feelings. He contemplated what he wanted to write for a bit and finally decided to just go with what he thought, rather than try to rationalise it it some way.

> 04:14 Sherlock: I find it insulting that you think I need looking after. Just because I don't conform to your expectation of adult behaviour doesn't mean you can treat me like a child.

The reply came more quickly this time and Sherlock could hear loud footsteps from the living room. Apparently his answer had John up and pacing.

> 04:20 John: I know you don't need looking after. It doesn't change the fact that I want to do it.
> 
> 04:22 Sherlock: I don't want you to.

Sherlock wanted go out there and hit John, or shout at him. But he stayed where he was and waited for the phone to buzz again.

> 04:25 John: And that's why I won't do it. I know the difference between fantasy and reality.

Gritting his teeth Sherlock opened the reply window.

> 04:27 Sherlock: That doesn't really comfort me. It is insulting of you to think I would agree to any of this.

Sherlock could hear the front door open and close as John apparently left the flat. Silently Sherlock laid and waited.

> 04:54 John: I'm sorry. I thought you might enjoy the lack of responsibility for a time. It was a stupid idea, I guess. But still. I thought you would like to be rid of all the social expectations and sensibilities you so detest.
> 
> 04:55 John: I'll make sure to be out of the flat by Friday.

Sherlock stared at the text in horror. This wasn't what he wanted. He wasn't really sure what was. He'd still not overcome the hurt of John's assumptions. Because they'd read quite clearly under his text.  
Sherlock was unable to feed himself and wash himself and take care of his flat and thus he needed minding. He hadn't needed to be minded since he was three. But still. John thought him unable of such basic feats and since he felt uncomfortable minding an adult he rather thought of Sherlock as a child.  
Nonetheless, John couldn't move out. Life was infinitely more boring without his friend.

> 04:55 Sherlock: I don't want you to move out.
> 
> 04:57 John: You don't want me around either. So we are at an impasse here.
> 
> 04:57 Sherlock: I never said that.
> 
> 05:00 John: You just said you found me insulting and apparently you can't even stand to face me to talk about this. I think you can't get any further from wanting me around than that.

Sighing Sherlock curled around his blanket, staring at the screen until it blacked out. He brought the message back with a swipe of his thumb and stared at the harsh black letters. He had no idea what to say to this beside the obvious.

> 05:15 Sherlock: You can't move out. I...I'd be lost without you.

The reply came instant and furious. Sherlock could practically feel the force with which John had pushed the buttons.

> 05:18 John: Don't play that card with me! First you say it's insulting that I want to take care of you. Now you insist that I can't leave you because you need me around. Make up your mind Sherlock.
> 
> 05:20 John: I'll be staying with Mike for now. Don't message me before you've come to a decision.

Sherlock stared at the phone and for once he didn't know what to do. It seemed to be the norm around John today. But he knew he couldn't make a decision based on the data he had. No matter that John had raised a valuable point in his last text. So he chanced it and send a last text.

> 05:25 Sherlock: I will. Just please tell me what I'd be getting into. I need more information to make up my mind. Just a few links will suffice. I promise not to bother you until I've found my answer. Stay safe. SH

There was no answer. Likely because John didn't have Internet access on his phone. Also likely because he didn't have his laptop with him. Not that Sherlock had found any bookmarks on it, but still.


	6. Research makes the heart grow fonder

The next four days were hell for Sherlock. The flat was eerily empty and Mrs. Hudson was worried about John and sure it was Sherlock's fault. There were no cases, not even really obvious ones. There was also no sign from John beside a list of links that had appeared in his inbox late the second evening.

They'd lead him to everything from toys to fiction to actual behaviour altering podcasts. Sherlock had been as much fascinated as he'd been disgusted. But he'd still dived into the research with as much vigour as he could muster without John around. It had helped that he'd received a second set of links the next evening. They didn't just lead to the welcome pages of shops and blogs but instead guided him to carefully selected excerpts and articles. It seemed like John was slowly feeding him information, giving him the general overview before showing him what John was interested in. It was a brilliant move. It had given Sherlock's mind the time to wander and explore before giving it the truly relevant facts.

The picture they created wasn't all that unpleasant, Sherlock had to admit. Leaving the tedious tasks of everyday life to John. Free to roam as he pleased with John picking up the debris. No need to conform to social niceties.  
Unfortunately giving up all responsibilities also required giving up all control. It meant trusting John to feed him and carry him around. It meant submitting to being fed and washed and put down for naps whenever John felt he needed them. It meant letting John dress him and change him and trust John to do everything with care and affection.

It was a scary thought. Giving everything up to John. Limiting himself to half sounds and picture books, to colourful building blocks and stuffed toys, everything large enough that he couldn't swallow it on accident.

Sherlock spend a whole day reading a forum for Adult Babies, as those who enjoyed this called themselves. He read about different arrangement and the rules involved. He read about what they apparently got from such play and a lot of it made him frown. But there also a part that made him nod or smile or at least get him a little curious. What would it feel like to wear a diaper? How did baby food taste? Was it comfortable, having someone else wash you? Did it feel degrading, being talked to like you didn't understand?  
The scientific part of his brain seemed unable to let go. And even when Lestrade called him in on day five he couldn't help but wonder how it would make him feel if it was John who wrapped the shawl around his neck and gave him an affectionate kiss to the forehead before sending him on his way.

In the end he decided there was only one way to find out.

> 14:23 Sherlock: I've made up my mind. I want you to move back in. I want you around. And I want to try this. Maybe only once, but I find it an interesting idea and I want to attempt it at least once. Not all of it. Not at the same time. But some of it. Please come
> 
> 14:23 Sherlock: home John.

The answer came immediately and it made Sherlock wonder what John had been doing this last week.

> 14:24 John: I'll be home at 6. Do you want Chinese or Italian?

Sherlock could feel the tension in his chest unwind and he smiled at his phone.

> 14:25 Sherlock: Italian. But only if you pick it up from Angelo's.

Maybe they weren't fine again, but John would come home and everything else would sort itself.


End file.
